


a little faith

by leonkarnak



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: (though theyre definitely in love after a certain point), (well. a crush at least.), ...this is nsfw KSFDLLKJDSF, Canon Compliant, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Porn With Plot, depressing look at a canon relationship, emet pov, id say enemies to lovers but well... not in this fic, implied wol/yshtola, ish, well more like enemies with benefits?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24680503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonkarnak/pseuds/leonkarnak
Summary: emet-selch does not love the broken, fragmented beings that wander the shards-- even when he is making his best attempt. however, when an ill-advised fling with the warrior of light turns into another, and another...well. things get complicated, to say the least.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	1. in good faith

the scions gather around, pathetic looks on their faces as they realize what has come to past.

he was not there, of course-- far be it from him to bore himself watching them muck around in some cave-- but he hears what happens all the same. dearest y’shtola, falling to her death all for the sake of the antidote, to save the trifling creatures she has surrounded herself with.

what a disappointment. though whether he’s more disappointed in the scions for wasting their time mourning when there is a job to be done or in y’shtola for dying before he ever really got a sense of what made the miqo’te special is beyond even him.

and most pitiful of all--

the hero sits, forlorn, eyes blank and gazing at nothing. a broken existence mourning another broken existence. he can relate, in a way, he supposes. though the people he mourns were actually alive to begin with.

still, he'd like to get this show on the road. and since the hero's 'friends' are too caught up in themselves to give her the time of day, he supposes it's up to him to try and get things moving again.

"you know, sitting here will not make her come back. you have a goal, do you not? do you intend to wait for her ghost to give you the go ahead, hero?" he plops himself a little ways away from her, glancing at her.

"i understand how you feel. truly, i do-- as much as your friends disbelieve that statement. but this inaction is a waste of time, you know."

"the dead do not speak. nor do they come back."

her fists curl as she looks up at them, tears welling in her eyes-- utterly pathetic, especially for the vaunted hero he has heard so much of.

“you don’t. you don’t know how i feel.” her voice is laced with venom, though it threatens to waver just as her tears threaten to spill over the edge of her eyes-- and he can tell she is holding back more venom than she lets on, as well.

“what would you know about losing someone? someone you loved?”

more than you, i'd wager.

she sighs, brushing away tears that finally fall from her cheek as she glances away, remaining stationary as she does.

irritating.

he should not respond at all, really. he is the 'villain' to her, and he doubts she cares to reconsider. annoying. it gets in the way of his plans, certainly.

but the flash of anger that goes through him makes him speak, regardless.

"oh, of course. my apologies for forgetting i was not a person, hero. do you think living for millennia grants everyone around me immortality, as well? an odd conclusion, given you killed lahabrea. ah, but i get ahead of myself-- he obviously wasn't a person either." there's far too much bitterness in his words, and 'cooperation' is becoming more and more difficult with every word he says, he's sure.

he can still kill them all, he supposes. always an option.

"but believe what you will. i'm sure it's easier to eat up hydaelyn's every word than thinking for yourself, hero."

“...don’t call me that.” the tone of her voice belies a warning, but it is not one he intends to heed-- if she intends to play the hero, she can deal with being called as such. but at least his words seem to have gotten to her somewhat, her eyes widening slightly at his anger.

...still. neither of them are here to feel sorry about one another. 

“i’m not some... mindless puppet.” still angry, he notes. still such a threatening edge to her tone-- if she's not a mindless puppet, perhaps she won't disappoint him. but it wouldn't be unusual if she did, either.

he should be used to disappointment, by now.

“did you want something?” she asks in an irritated voice-- tired of his company already, he supposes. a shame he does not intend to leave until they are on the way to their goal, then.

"i wanted to make sure we were still planning on doing something, i suppose. unless you think the lightwarden will see that some girl died and walk away? that her great sacrifice and the power of love will save the world?"

if sacrifice and love were enough, he would not be here, talking to some half-person.

"real life is not a story, hero."

she stands to face him, pushing at his chest—tears still streaming down her face as she does. “you wouldn’t know about sacrifice. about anything. you don’t know anything at all.”

he almost laughs, her statement so-- utterly and completely wrong. he can't even stop the smile on his face. ridiculous.

"i wouldn't know? tell me, hero, how much do you know about me? what do you even know about me at all? that i'm an ascian, your sworn enemy? that i once reigned over garlemand as emperor? you know titles. not what i've done. not what i've seen. but you know hydaelyn calls me a great evil, don't you?"

his smile widens, even though there's not even a hint of joy behind it.

"you claim not to be her puppet, yet here you are, aren't you? so sure of things you could not possibly know. do you think i lack the ability to feel?"

he wonders if she'll snap fully. a shame if his attempt at cooperation fails before it ever began, but elidibus probably won't mind if the hero dies now.

it'll just be another disappointment.

“i know enough.” she pushes him once more, face contorted in annoyance and anger-- not that it will avail her much. she is without even a weapon, at the moment, and he’s certain enough he could defeat her. “i’d like to see you prove that you can feel, then. that you’re not zodiark’s little pet who loves sowing up chaos for no reason other than ‘to piss people off’.”

"prove it, hm? and how should i do that?" he steps closer-- if she's going to insist on putting her hands on him, he may as well return the favour, right?

"what would you like me to do, hero? to prove myself? shall i regale you of some heart-wrenching tale you'll likely just believe is false?" he tilts her head up, getting a better look at her face.

a pretty outside, to be sure. it's a shame the inside is so... hollow.

"do you expect me to fight you? it would defeat the purpose of cooperation, you know. so what is that you want, hero?"

he releases her chin, sneering at her-- though he does not step back. at least this is interesting.

he wonders what it is she'll do.

"i have no reason to believe you." there is such anger in her voice-- it’s almost endearing, in a way. and he supposes she is not incorrect-- she does not truly have a reason to trust him.

not yet.

she grabs onto his wrist after he releases her, clenching on his arm with, he imagines, all the strength the poor thing can muster. "so? what is it that you want from me?" she asks, and this time he has an answer.

"i want you to show me something interesting, hero. saviour of worlds. none have impressed me in a long, long time. so defy my expectations, if you are all they say." he smiles, freeing his hand in a singular movement.

such a feisty soul. her aether glows with anger. yet still so dull compared with those of the past.

she must have been brilliant, once. he can tell. he wonders what it was that she was. it's hard to picture her as she must have been. few things come to mind.

he wonders if she'll lament what was lost, when she comes to know of it.

he leans forward, lips almost grazing her ear.

"impress me, if you can."

he wonders if she’s capable-- it has been a long time since he was impressed by one of her kind-- not since his first son, perhaps, a rare beacon of-- not light, perhaps, but happiness. but then he died, as her people are wont to do-- frail, weak, and ever vanishing--

he wonders if he’s not about to be sorely disappointed.

her aether glows with more and more anger, igniting as she shoves him once more, seemingly getting frustrated as even her best efforts fail to budge him. "what would impress you, then?" she gazes at him, a fire in her eyes.

...she’s quite close, now.

but she only steps closer as she sets her jaw, eyes still burning with that fire.

"a good question. i'm not sure, anymore. so many disappointments, as of late. i barely remember what it's like to even be impressed." again, she steps closer. interesting.

"something interesting, perhaps. uniqueness. a spark of something?" he reaches out, fingers finding their way to her hair, somehow. tugging gently, so that she looks up at him.

the anger is mixed with something else, he notices. faint, but present. he wonders if he can draw more of that out of her. wonders what colour it will be, when he does.

she's empty, but perhaps less so than the others. magnetizing, maybe. perhaps that's why they all worship at her feet. he's less impressed.

intrigued, though. certainly.

he gazes at her, trying to decide a next step. her thighs are exposed by her choice of clothing. free of the armors that cover the rest of her skin.

his free hand moves, finding her leg, moving up it till it touches the bare skin, feeling her out. warm flesh. soft, though he can feel some scars. natural for a hero, perhaps. his other hand stays in her hair, though a bit lax. he wants to see her expressions, right now. releasing her would allow her to look away.

not yet. he wants to see where it is this game of theirs goes.

"well, hero? show me. show me what you intend to do. show me something interesting." his fingers trail higher, though not too high. curious if she'll stop him.

he wonders how this game ends for the two of them.

the hero does not shy away, standing her ground even as his hands trail higher-- he expected different, somehow.

"is this some sort of challenge, then?" her hand grips at his wrist once again, though she does not stop him.

"challenge? not necessarily. though you may think of it that way, if you please." higher, then. his fingers graze along her groin.

"this only goes as far as you let it, hero. it ends with but a word." and with that, tilting her head back once more, he 'kisses' her-- though perhaps it's too gentle of a word for the way he smashes their lips together, harsh and sloppy.

a mistake? possibly. it doesn't matter, he supposes. something meaningless, to satiate his curiosity.

elidibus wouldn't approve. he'd call it risky-- but he's done this before. feelings aren't his forte. any delusions he had about learning to love the broken souls that remain of his world have long since passed.

and she despises him, as an ascian. sees nothing but the blood on his hands. it's not like this will ever happen again, anyways.

a momentary distraction. a sating of curiosities. and then they will pretend it never happened.

he expects little from the hero, for her to turn away-- but instead she presses her body closer, leaning into the touch.

not running away, then. both of them encouraging whatever this is. he wonders if this counts as ‘taking advantage of her grief’-- but if it is, she does not make a move to stop him.

he decides he will continue, hand climbing ever higher, fingers slipping under the fabric to meet bare skin-- gently rubbing small circles around her clit, fingers darting around her groin-- eliciting a small whimper from the hero, immodest, needy--

what does the 'warrior of light' look like in the throes of pleasure? what does she look like lying on a bed, body still spasming from the aftermath of her orgasm? does she moan? does she beg? how many people have taken her, he wonders. how many people have wanted to take her?

and yet it's him, the ascian, with hands caressing her most sensitive parts. the villain of the story pulls away from their little makeout session, lips travelling to her lower neck, nipping at soft skin gently enough to not leave a mark. all that she has laboured to destroy stands before her, yet she allows him to messily tug at her shirt, exposing the skin of her chest. her hands entangle in his hair as he does, more gentle noises escaping her.

a messy affair, to be certain. it doesn't stop him.

it doesn't seem to stop her, either.

"d-door. the door--" she suddenly pleas in a hushed voice, as if remembering that her dear friends may seek her out at any given time.

"door? ah. i had forgotten." not that he cares, particularly. in fact, it'd be fairly amusing, wouldn't it? her dear companions seeing her squirm under his touch.

but if they are to do this, he'll match her terms. he pulls away for a moment, ensuring the door is both closed and locked, before returning to her.

he notes that she seems a bit shaky-- best to not try and do this standing, he supposes-- so he kisses her again, hands gripping her roughly, pinning her to the shitty cot in the room. not the ideal location. but for a one time fling, what does it matter?

this isn't something they're going to look back upon for fun. there is no gentleness, no love in this moment. hunger, more like.

he pulls her bottoms away, tossing them aside as he slides his fingers into her depths-- feeling her out. preparing her for what’s to come. her eyes close, and he wonders if she sees someone else, right now. but then she pulls away from their kiss, whimpering at his touch.

more.

he slips another finger in, trying to prepare her for his length. his other hand finally rids her of the top, laying her bare. so many scars. some probably from lahabrea, or igeyorhm, or nabriales.

she has taken so much from him, without knowing. though lahabrea would have laughed at the notion that he even cared. he wishes that he did not-- but it's hard to let go of things. maybe that's why she lets him do this-- some distraction to take her mind off of another. he’s sure that must be it-- that her thoughts are filled only with her.

he sees another when he looks at her, too. so he supposes it's fair-- he sees their eyes looking up at him as he pumps his fingers in and out, sees their face flushed and wanting. sees their brown hair spread out on the bed--

"last moment to back out, hero."

he sees them as he strokes himself to his full length. them as his fingers pull out and he lines himself up with her entrance--

he sees them as he kisses her, entering her in a fluid motion, and he almost hears the way they'd gasp his name out before it replaced by a cry from her, not them at all-- and she is not them, and it's all just some fantasy he concocted because he's unable to let go.

even now.

they do not look at each other, as an unspoken rule. despite it, despite all of-- this, whatever it is that this is-- he isn't too harsh at first, allowing her time to adjust to his girth.

he does not know why.

he speeds up, after a time, aiming his thrusts deeper, faster-- some odd satisfaction as she moans. perhaps it's all the imagining her as them that does this to him, makes him oddly sentimental, makes all of this so tinted with some vague pain--

she's not them. he's not her. neither of them should gain anything from this.

but the heat spreading throughout his body as he takes her feels more right than it has before, with wives and others he took just to try and feel something. perhaps it's the tint of her aether, so close and yet so far--

he pulls her legs apart, trying to bring the two of them to the end of their ropes, trying to find her centre. they both need it, he thinks.

he doesn't know why that is.

there is naught but the sound of their bodies colliding, the heat of their combined breaths-- her quiet cries of pleasure as their hips meet over and over again, sweat dripping down his forehead-- and then her body spasms as she hits her peak--

"s-shtola--" gripping on his shoulders, she whispers weakly-- desperately, hips quivering and shaking as she comes--

it's no surprise-- she loves him just as much as he loves her-- not at all. it's no revelation. he doesn't care.

he isn't doing this for love.

he picks up the pace again, until it's all too much to take and everything goes white, and for a moment it's blissful-- he can see them underneath him again, a slight smile on their lips. he would lean down and kiss them softly after he finishes, telling them the truth he should have said long ago.

but they aren't really here, he knows. and he still doesn't really know that they loved him. his only proof that they may have felt the same way was a singular flower-- followed by the destruction of his world.

they aren't here. she is. and their loveless fuck has concluded, leaving them both heaving, not looking at each other.

"...well. i suppose i should go, then. thank you for the time, hero."

"...close the door on your way out," she says.


	2. the burden of knowledge

he doesn't have it in him to cry, anymore. he was never one for it, even when he was younger. he shed some tears when he saw what happened, yes. when he realized he was one of three who remained. but it was quickly replaced with a hollowness.

that's all he feels, as he looks at the mural before them. hollow. he wonders if hydaelyn's summoners knew the price of what they were doing. if they cared. he can't ask, anymore.

his fingers graze the surface, looking up at the mural. of the only record of his lost world on the surface. though the hero's companions are determined to deny that fact.

all that's left-- him and this mural-- and they deny both.

what an awful joke it is.

he is brought out of his thoughts but the sound of someone clearing their throat-- the sudden noise clearing his head.

"...i haven't gotten the chance to say thank you yet."

so  _ she's _ here. there goes his peace and quiet.

...perhaps for the best. he's far too sentimental.

"thank me? ah. for saving that friend of yours?" he turns to face her, eyeing her curiously. "it was no bother to me. my people are capable of far more than that. and as i told you, i wish to cooperate. helping her is as good a step as any." how happy she looked to have her 'love' returned to her. after going off about how he would not know how it felt to lose someone he loved, it seems she didn't lose anything, in the end.

if only he could say the same. but even with amaurot back, should they succeed, what he's lost is immeasurable. and  _ they _ …

"is that all you came here for? the thanks is appreciated, but you needn't make the trek back here just for that. i would have returned eventually, hero."

“...still.”

she steps forward, gazing at the murals beside him. there’s almost a certain beauty to the scene, hydaelyn’s champion and zodiark’s follower contemplating the images before them, in stillness. “i... i don’t know what i came back here for.” she admits, though the furrowing of her brow suggests she is at least  _ considering  _ his words from earlier.

"to contemplate, perhaps? or maybe you just like pretty pictures. though i happen to dislike this one, myself." he frowns, the blue figure in the picture practically taunting him. "or perhaps you enjoy my company so much you had to come back. you can admit it, hero." he jests, but it's followed by a sigh. the image is unpleasant to look at, so he turns to her, examining her. a few lingering wounds from her encounter with the lightwarden-- but she seems to be holding up.

"do your companions know you're here? i'm surprised none of them accompanied you so that they may sneer at me."

it's odd, possibly. he did not expect the hero to choose to see him. especially not alone. does she not have  _ y'shtola  _ to pine after?

“...no. maybe i just wanted some company.” she stares at the mural once more, unable to stop frowning as she does. he cannot help but wonder what it is she sees, when she looks at it. what she believes of his words. “you’re as good a person as any.”

he raises his eyebrows at her.

"good as any, hm? yet i can't help but notice those friends of yours were much closer to you, hero." he takes a step closer, looking at her curiously. "have you grown bored of them already? or is there something you want from me, specifically? do you have questions? or is there something  _ else _ you want?" he thinks of her sprawled on the cot below him.

they have not spoken of it since. it was a mistake. a one time fling. 

...yet he has thought of it, a few times. for some strange reason. perhaps the idea of corrupting the warrior of light appeals to him.

perhaps he's just lonely, after all these years.

she pauses for a moment, eyes wide-- before her jaw sets in a firm line, and she steps forward. “maybe it was  _ you _ who wanted something,” she accuses, glaring daggers at him. “is it so bad to want for some different company?”

he shrugs, smirking. "i did not say that. only a theory,  _ hero. _ if it is not the case, then that's that, isn't it?"

(though she still stepped closer, didn't she?)

"it's fair to want different company, i suppose. i am just surprised that you chose  _ me _ . last i checked, even despite my attempts to cooperate, i was still considered your enemy." he crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. "what changed? surely one of the veena of fanow would talk to you. or one of the 'night's blessed'." 

they could even bond over a mutual love of 'master matoya'. it'd be a great conversation topic, he's sure.

...unless she's avoiding her? too shy to confess, perhaps.

she stays silent a moment, gears turning in her mind-- sighing before she begins to speak again. "i wanted to talk to  _ you _ . i'd think you'd be more grateful, considering how everyone else antagonizes you."

"i've grown accustomed to the antagonism, really. it's how I'm sure i'm experiencing reality." such an odd thing. not that he minds. "well, we're both here. so talk to me, then. i assume you have a topic in mind?"

he's still having a hard time understanding her intent. her approaching him is most unexpected. helpful, perhaps? he wanted her trust, after all.

he isn't sure this qualifies as trust. probably more like loneliness. and he still isn't convinced that she doesn't want  _ more _ than talking. he'll oblige her either way, he thinks. and he'll pretend it's a good idea.

she steps forward after a moment's time, reaching for him desperately before pulling him towards her for a kiss, deep and longing.

ah.

he was right after all. he wishes he could say he's surprised-- and perhaps he should be less willing to return that kiss-- perhaps he should not allow his hands to find the hem of her top, slinking beneath the fabric to run across her skin.

'one time' turns to 'two', and he wonders if this time will actually be the last? 

"good conversation," he murmurs, before he mashes his lips against hers once more, pressing her against the wall. she returns the kisses with just as much fervor, a neediness neither of them should confront.

one of zodiark's tempered, taking hydaelyn's champion under a mural depicting zodiark's defeat at her hands. all kinds of ironic, there.

she's wearing pants, today-- a slightly more irritating decision, he finds, though he manages to get them unbuttoned fairly quickly, if not entirely off "...turn around. facing the wall. there's no bed here, and the ground will be uncomfortable in a  _ few _ ways. easier if you use the wall to support you, hero."

and he wants her to see. look upon her 'mother's greatest victory’ as he fucks her. he would not have the irony be lost on her.

seemingly irritated at the way he orders her around, she frowns, furrowing her brows as she glares at him. she still obliges, turning to face the wall. 

he is rough as he pulls away her pants, slightly irritated at the amount of time it takes-- he feels unnaturally impatient, though he supposes it makes sense-- this is just a momentary thing, isn't it? fleeting, like everything else in this world.

his coat falls onto the ground next to her clothes, his hands clasping over hers against the wall-- for stability, more than anything-- and in a moment he's inside, feeling her warmth again, trying to project brown hair onto blue and white.

the mural ruins the illusion. a constant reminder that they're gone. of what they're guilty of.

they took everything. hydaelyn took everything. who does he blame-- the primal or the summoner? and now he has his petty vengeance, he thinks. deepening his thrusts. trying for a reaction. for noise. it doesn't matter who she mentally replaces him with, not really.

he's still the one fucking her, and he's still one of zodiark's devoted. hydaelyn still loses this round, he thinks.

it's a small victory.

his pace is heady, whimpers and gasps escaping her every so often as he bears into her, pleasure beginning to pool in his lower half.

"please," she says, and it spurs him into foolishness, and before he thinks better of it he awkwardly moves one of his hands, using it to turn her face to his, kissing her again with far too much neediness. for her sake, he says.

memories of someone else tell him that's not true. but what's another regret, really? just another to a long list of things he's fucked up.

he pulls away, trying to put his hand back over hers. pretend nothing happened. it doesn't matter, even if it did, really. this all means nothing. to her. to him. just some dirty secret in front of an ancient mural.

he quickens his pace, gripping her hands tighter as he thrusts into her, trying to forget. forget her. forget them. forget what he's doing and also what he isn't doing.

he's a fool for doing this. she's a fool for accepting it. all her friends are fools for not noticing. y'shtola is a fool for not noticing her feelings, and he's a fool for even being slightly invested.

it all goes away once this moment ends, at least. the feeling of her hands under his, of the warmth of her body-- they're all fleeting things.

so long as it never happens again.

(he already failed that, though. this is the second time.)

(how many more until he learns?)

her pleas become more and more desperate, mewling and whining until everything comes to a head, her head hanging low as a loud moan escapes, too loud for the caverns they find themselves in.

he follows soon after her, nails digging into her palms as he comes, legs threatening to give out. the cave is suddenly so silent besides their laboured breathing, both of them not meeting eyes with one another.

what now? an awkward walk back to fanow? he feels so tired, suddenly.

they should not have done this. but they did-- he brought it upon himself. welcomed it, even. he'd love to say it's part of some calculated plan, but messy things like this rarely work out in one's favour.

"...i'd offer to spare us both the walk back to fanow, but if we were to teleport in together, someone may question it. and i assume you'd rather avoid that."

he would, too. the incessant whining of the scions should they find out...

he doesn't need more reason to regret this. he has plenty.

nodding silently, she lets herself fall as he withdraws, her legs not supporting her weight just quite yet. she hits the ground with a thud, naked with his seed dripping down her thighs.

he lets himself drop shortly after she does, weary legs giving out. quite the view, seeing her like this. for all his internal whining about how they should stop, the sight of her like this makes him want to do anything but.

she reaches over to gather her clothes that he threw haphazardly, though not finding the energy nor the ability to put them on quite yet. so she settles on covering herself for the time with her arms, presumably to find some facsimile of modesty. 

they could talk about it. try to discern why it is they're doing this. encourage themselves, and each other, to stop.

they won't, but they could.

instead, he watches her through half lidded eyes, disappointed as the sight of her thighs disappears from view. he could have liked to see it a bit more, he thinks.

how nice it would be, to rest now. but he cannot. she cannot. there is a camp that will question their absence, or at least hers, and he does not care, but she does, and so at the end of the night she will limp back to her friends and he will return to the shadows and they will not talk about it.

but for now, they sit, regarding each other in silence under the watchful eye of their respective 'god's.

  
  



	3. a breath of respite

it's a peculiarly chilly day at the desert-laden land of amh araeng, watching the scions try to repair the talos into working condition as the warrior rests below a tree, seemingly exhausted from the days work.

her eyes follow a certain miqo’te as she rests, the way she focuses on the object of her affections obvious to him-- though seemingly missed by the distracted scions. he perches next to her, having taken the form of a bird for the time-- a shoebill. she glances over at him, seemingly having had her fill of looking over her ‘dearest shtola’, reaching a hand over to preen his feathers.

"how lucky it would be to be a bird. don't you think, shoebill...?" she smiles, a twinge of melancholy colouring her features. "not having to worry about your dumb feelings... or confessing."

she sighs, glancing back to her lady love again. "i'm not even sure if i should, any more. i don't think it matters."

he would snort, if he could.

he did not originally intend to hide from her, in this form. it was a convenience, really. the smaller form is easier to maintain in the blinding light, and he is less subject to her companions  _ whining _ . 

he thought she would realize. apparently not, he thinks, as she talks about freedom. not having feelings. though he supposes she doesn't seem to think his other form has them, either. so perhaps nothing's changed, there.

there's an annoyance in his chest as she talks about  _ her _ \-- he can't pinpoint why. or if he can... he does not want to, perhaps.

this is why elidibus would have called their affair  _ risky _ , he supposes. the attachment. he won't be abandoning his path, and he knows that she is just as hollow as anyone else. but the idea of her being with y'shtola is... unpleasant. perhaps because of the way the miqo'te barely spares her a glance. so caught up in her own thoughts, unaware of how broken the hero had been when she 'died'.

foolishly, he nuzzles his beak at her hand, playing at comfort. it does not mean anything, but is it not better if she likes  _ this  _ form, at least…?

her smile grows fonder as he nuzzles her hand, probably assuming him some lonely bird, greedy for affection. "i hope urianger was right. maybe you becoming a prince would help me out of this hole i've dug myself into."

ah, yes. the ‘shoebill theories’. the ones that have bounced around camp since they discovered that he followed them like this. the cheap fortune teller’s being that of a forlorn prince, waiting patiently for his lost love, protecting her in the form of a bird.

how ridiculous.

"would you like a kiss?" she giggles, running her palm along his feathers as she does. she seems fond of petting him-- as if she thinks of him like some domesticated animal. ...not that he minds. it’s of no matter.

_ a kiss? _

he's had several, from her. yet none were much like a fairy tale, he thinks. and none have made him any less of what he is, unfortunately for her. there's no prince to be found.

"this is the third time i've almost lost her, you know," closing her eyes, she sighs softly, seemingly frustrated. "i should say something soon. or i'll regret it, one way or another. i don't know if i should wait until i lose her again."

"...i'm still scared." the honesty is perhaps surprising, but she does not realize who she directs it to, of course. if she knew it were him...

he listens quietly-- not that he can do much else-- feeling his frustration grow. he does not want her to confess, yet he should not care, yet he's annoyed, yet--

it's all so frustrating.

perhaps  _ y'shtola _ could use her brain, for a moment, and notice the hero’s feelings on her own-- it is not as if the hero is particularly sneaky, in his opinion. and… something else, probably, though he fails to think of any other things to be mad about, other than--

\--jealousy? is that what this is? or has the projection of brown hair onto her extended to y'shtola-- ignoring  _ them  _ pointedly as they sigh wistfully at her, leaving him--

perhaps that's it, too. the only companionship he has, other than elidibus, as meaningless as it is-- it will surely disappear if she confesses, won’t it?

he nuzzles her hand again, demanding more attention. and hoping she says more, just so he can be more angry at everything, he guesses.

"...it isn't just that, either." she continues on her course of preening the bird's feathers, seemingly almost unconsciously, smile returning as he nuzzles her once more. he'd very much like to ask what  _ else _ there is, but she does not seem inclined to share that. at least not yet.

she pauses for a moment, eyes closing as she thinks of something-- and then shakes her head. she takes a deep breath, sighing. "i'm a mess, aren't i...?" her lips curl up in a sad smile once more, "confiding my feelings to a bird. of all things."

"promise you won't tell anyone, okay?" 

she seems so... lonely, for someone surrounded by people. he finds himself wishing even more that she will succeed in her quest-- that she can tame the light, and that he may offer his hand to her.

he wonders if she would accept.

there is little comfort he can offer, though he was never good at offering comfort to begin with. still, an annoying fondness pulling at his chest makes him wish he  _ could _ , just for the moment.

an idea occurs to him, though it's certainly a bad one-- and he carefully climbs her knee, sitting in her lap and just gently pressing the tip of his beak to her lips.

a kiss. from a 'forlorn prince'. 

her eyes widen. and before long a fond smile colours her lips. she nuzzles her face into his head, giggling slightly.

“my prince.”


	4. a feast of lies

he is bored.

he intended to sleep, but he woke up long ago-- and no matter how he tries, getting  _ back _ to sleep has been a trial. the pitch black he sees through the window inform him that the room’s owner is far overdue for her return-- he expected her to be back hours ago, yelping and whining when she saw  _ him _ on her bed.

but she's not here. boring.

the light emanating from her is blinding, now, but she seems to have her wits about her. and novrandt has kept it’s night, despite everything.

just one more, though vauthry is the big one. still, he has high hopes.

cooperation, he said. they’re so close to the end. perhaps she'll take some convincing, but the sight of amaurot may help-- the knowledge of what she should gain upon joining him. her friends will be more difficult. 

y'shtola might hold her back. because of her...  _ feelings  _ for her.

he scowls.

hopefully she will return soon, so he can stop thinking about... that, for a moment.

as he has that thought, the doorknob turns, and he sees  _ her  _ standing in the doorway, breathing a sigh of relief until her eyes meet his, only sighing again-- this time far more exhausted. "...do you need something? i don't think it would do you any good if the exarch finds out about you intruding. in  _ my  _ room."

"if the exarch could stop me from doing as i please, i wouldn't be anywhere near the first to begin with. alas..." he's about to go on, but there's a certain feeling of... wrongness emanating from her.

the light is peeking through the cracks.

ironic, considering his previous thoughts. but it has not overtaken her yet. perhaps.....

if they add on a final lightwarden, however-- one of vauthry's ability--

he narrows his eyes at her. he cannot do anything even if he wished to, and the condition of his cooperation-- she must contain the light on her own. of course, it would likely singe him, should he touch it.

he can do nothing but watch.

it bothers him more than it should.

she clutches at her chest suddenly, and a pang of-- something is sent through his body until she lowers herself to the bed beside him. "lonely again, aren't you?" she quips, her voice light and airy, before sighing once more, letting herself fall backwards, sinking into the mattress with her eyes closed momentarily.

_ hold yourself together, hero. just for a bit longer. _

"well, as you know, your friends don't particularly like me. and elidibus is back in the source, doing... something, surely. annoying varis in my stead, possibly. besides, your 'exarch' did not prepare a room for me, so this seemed as good a place as any."

he glances down at her on the bed. the light still fights to be free of the cage known as her. he wonders if it counts if she is only barely containing herself, in the end.

he's far too willing to accept it like that-- to proffer his hand to her despite how barely she meets his requirement. but should she well and truly fail...

well. she'd make a spectacular lightwarden, at this point, so full of light. though he cannot help but feel that porcelain skin does not truly suit her. she looks best like this, as she is, so--

he sighs, looking away. a mistake. sleeping with her was a mistake.

it is not love, but still affection, still inappropriate. attachment he should not have.

he needs to stop.

she hums. "well, you'd do well to stay here, then. make sure he doesn't catch you, though-- he does worry quite a bit." she pauses, reaching out to him momentarily-- before she thinks better of herself and pulls away, looking somewhat troubled.

his chest twists as she touches him-- and again as she withdraws. he wants more. so much more. though he does not want to admit it, the  _ want _ remains, tearing at his chest as he glances away.

"well, i never said i had any intention of leaving. at least not yet. it would be a shame to leave now, when the most interesting thing in the room has just arrived." leaving would be smarter. being here to begin with is a mistake.

his body shifts closer to hers, trying to see her past the light-- did the colour always look this brilliant? still dull, undoubtedly, but he swears he sees  _ them  _ in there, like strands of colour in black opal-- it’s a shade he’s never seen anywhere else but in them, their aether so brilliant and blinding to him even back then--

\--he can't tell if that counts as 'wishful thinking'. whether  _ they  _ would make things better or worse.

worse, he thinks.

"...i must admit, hero... you're different than i had expected. lahabrea despised you, as if you were hydaelyn herself, and elidibus was more... understanding, but did seem rather fond of killing you. i can't say either are quite how i feel. i expected some self-righteous upstart, unable to think beyond their own ends."

someone he could hate. someone he could use.

"...yet instead i got you. i'm not sure if i should be grateful for that, or not."

"mm... what do you feel then?" her eyes glide over him for a moment, and then, seemingly having made a decision, she climbs on top of him, pressing a kiss to his lips. she begins to trail her kisses lower and lower, down to his neck, gently sucking on the skin.

"...why do you never call me by my name...?" she whispers, her voice tinged with too much  _ emotion _ , as if she actually cared. "just curious, is all," she tacks on immediately, before continuing her course, pressing more and more kisses to the skin of his neck.

"what i feel? hm.... blue. not your hair. your aether-- like some raging tempest. so many admirers for the hero-- they see a beautiful ocean, and they like what they see." he smiles as she kisses him, opting to ignore the question he does not want to answer.

"they think you perfect. calm, comforting... and then they take a step into your depths and are devoured by what's inside. so they camp at the beach instead, making a tidy profit off the beauty, but they never leave the shore." he reaches out to her, redirecting her lips back to his, the sensation creating a neediness in him.

what a mess. he knows this goes nowhere. and yet.

"i think i prefer it this way, however. rather than some shallow wading pool, hero, you encompass so much more. it's interesting.  _ you  _ are interesting."

he's starting to feel annoyed by the amount of power she has, right now, but he decides to let it slide for a moment. he's curious as to what she'll do.

isn't that how this all started? curiosity?

it doesn't matter.

"so you aren't scared...? of drowning," she quips as her kisses increase in fervor, lightly biting at his skin-- as if scared to mark him more. he wouldn’t mind, he thinks, if she was a little more forceful. if she marred the flesh with her teeth, marked him as if he could belong to her.

"i've heard it's an uncomfortable way to die. but an ascian need not fear death to begin with, does he?"

her fingers run across his hair, and the feeling makes him feel far too  _ fond _ , too warm. then she kisses him again, more desperate and rough as she steals his breaths, greedy and wanting-- and he leans into it, fully giving himself to her in that moment before they part again and something has changed in her expression-- and she lies back down.

he hates the disappointment he feels as she slides off of him, hates the way he moves before he can think better of it, hates how his lips go to hers, needy and wanting before he can even think of it, hands gripping against hers.

he should not encourage this.

but he does.

he wants her. he cannot tell anymore if loneliness is the sole reason for his actions. there is no ascian plot. there is no justifiable reason to keep doing this. he should not want her. an attempt at cooperation usually doesn't involve fucking the other party-- but he wants her. badly. so he continues, like some rebellious teenager with poor impulse control.

"and you? what do  _ you  _ feel? the same as your companions? that i am some insatiable beast?" his hands pull at her top, and he kisses along her neck. no marks, just like she did. some half-assed attempt-- not nearly enough. it never is. "though i suppose of all of them, you would have the right to feel that way, wouldn't you?"

  
  


"i think you're infuriating," she says in a low voice, undercut by a whimper as his actions have the desired effect on her. she takes his hands, guiding him under the fabric covering her body, leading them to her breasts.

"you'd best be careful. i  _ do  _ know how to contain the souls of ascians," she smirks, and within moments her lips are on his again, their mouths smashing against each other in some bizarre desperation for  _ something  _ he cannot name.

"threatening me, hero? is that supposed to get me in the mood?" he smirks, removing the last of her shirt, throwing it to the ground beside him.

they’re both fools. him for starting this. her for allowing it. her bottoms come off quickly, his follow, and he swears he's gotten far too adept at removing the two of their clothes.

she looks up at him, eyes bright and burning with desire and longing. desperation. "...fuck me."

"gladly."

he's already hard, another side effect of this want, this hunger for her-- there's scarcely any foreplay, though that's not unusual for them. a quick, rough fuck before pretending nothing is happening. there's part of him that wants more, he admits. for her to be his completely, for this to leave the shadows. it's a part of himself he does his damndest to stop.

he's more needy than he thought, today. perhaps that's why his mouth covers hers, lips mashing against hers needily as he holds onto either leg with his hands, pushing her legs open so he can go deeper, feel more of her--

(he wants even more than that. he wants to leave her neck a marred wasteland. he wants her to forget y'shtola. he wants her to beg for his cock. he wants her to say she l--)

..this is just a distraction. him from his mission. her from her crush.

nothing more.

he needs to stop entertaining foolish thoughts.

he sees her gaze out of the corner of his eye, a feeling of discomfort arising.  _ stop looking _ . looking makes it far too real. looking makes him think. want. why is she looking to begin with? it only makes mentally replacing him harder.

he growls, partially at himself, hiding his face in her neck, kissing it more. it isn't real. all of this is just something the two of them do to let off steam, or because they're lonely, or both. she does not need to look at him, for she's surely imagining y'shtola anyways. and he does not need to look at her for the same reason.

(he sees blue and white hair sprawled across pillowcases in his dreams. the familiar brown is nowhere to be seen. he’s lying to himself, and he knows it.)

his teeth clamp down on her skin impulsively, wanting something-- his thrusts grow more erratic. blue waves crashing. is she upset? because of the light? because of him? both? but there's red, too, parts where the aether glows purple as he plows into her. her pleasure. he wants to overwrite everything else into that. harder, he decides.

he wonders when this stopped just being about his own pleasure. when it stopped being just spiting hydaelyn-- though the thought of the  _ mother  _ watching as he fills her champion does still bring him quite a bit of joy.

still. there's something more to it now. they've met like this too many times-- the feeling of her body against his is the only one that comes to mind, now. routine. she doesn't love him. he doesn't love her. she sees him with white hair and pointed ears. and he's doing all he can to hold onto the image of short brown hair.

that's how it should be.

('should be', but it isn't, is it? he still sees her. he wonders how her name would sound on his lips. 'ciiri'.)

his hands grip her legs, leaving the skin white where blood rushes away-- it might bruise later, he thinks. a reminder of him after he leaves, perhaps, but it doesn’t matter. her fingers tangle onto his hair again, and it fills his heart with some sort of yearning for something softer, a feeling he quickly suppresses.

they are diametrically opposed. the best he can hope for her is her success in her mission, for her to contain the light so he may offer her a spot at his side-- but even then, more than likely they could never be--

she cries out suddenly, her hands digging into his back as she hits her peak. he glances at her as she spasms around him, looking upon her face at the one time he's fairly certain she isn't paying attention. 

it's that sight, he thinks, that pushes him over the edge himself. seeing her undone.  _ her _ , and no one else. his teeth unconsciously dig in deeper to her skin, the taste of blood hitting his tongue.

she'll have to cover the mark. the thought is far from unpleasant.

he takes a spot next to her on the bed as he pulls out. not close enough to cuddle, though the warmth would be nice. he's tired, but he knows he can't sleep here. not with her. if the sex was 'risky', then sleeping next to her is something else entirely.

he doesn't move yet, though. one more moment before he puts his clothes back on and they both stop talking about it. then she can continue touching herself to someone else until he fucks up again and finds himself next to her.

he barely even pretends it won't happen again, nowadays.

elidibus would not be happy.

her trace over the bite mark, and she sighs, the tiredness seeming to suddenly hit her. perhaps that’s why she glances over to him, not quite looking at him. "can you stay?" she asks. "i mean-- no. of course not. nevermind," she whispers, her voice sounding far too sad.

_ stay _ .

his chest twists unpleasantly. he cannot stay. it's too much. but he finds himself unwilling to leave, suddenly. especially when she asks like that. foolish. foolish, foolish--

"...until you fall asleep. but i will be gone before you awaken, hero."

even that much is a mistake. he knows. this tryst only ends poorly for the two of them. when did their anger and disgust with each other morph into this?

just until she sleeps. just a little longer. because she asked. perhaps if he keeps trying to justify it, he'll believe himself.

"....thanks," she says. she’s watching him again, he can tell. he closes his eyes for the moment, just until she does as well, and they lay in silence, not touching. and he pretends that that is enough for him.

(it’s not.)


End file.
